Brant Newcomb had caught up with her and was walking beside her, still laughing.
"All right, Eve Mason—touche! No sharing with Jer, even if he is my best friend. But I want you, so let's not play games. Name your price, baby—anything you say."
"Oh, God, you have a nerve! I'm not for sale. And now will you please leave me alone?" Her voice shook with rage as she tried to brush past him, but he moved in front of her, thumbs hooked into his belt in a kind of deliberate caricature of a Western movie villain.
"Everyone has a price, Eve. And one way or another, I'm going to find out what yours is—one of these days. I almost always get what I want in the end, luv, and I'm patient. I can wait."
Before she could move or retaliate, he had patted her face lightly and almost absently, and then he turned away from her and was gone, mixing with the crowd. Eve continued to walk toward the bar, her knees feeling suddenly weak. It took her a few moments to realize that she was actually frightened. Where on earth was Peter? Suddenly, she wanted to go home.
CHAPTER NINE
Marti was sitting up late again when Eve let herself into the apartment. She waved the drink in her hand at Eve.
"Hey, you're early. Want to help me drown some sorrows?"
Eve was still preoccupied, her brows drawn together in a frown.
"Marti, do you know a man called Brant Newcomb? You know more people than I do, and he's not the type you'd forget easily. A big blond guy; reminds me of an animal. And I get the feeling he is one. I—"
Marti was sitting up straight, her eyes suddenly alert.
"So you finally ran into him. Every girl in town runs into dear Brant sometime, and senses the same thing. Women are a kind of hobby with him, you might say— among other things."
Eve shuddered. She flipped her shoes onto a chair and walked over to the small portable bar.
"Suddenly, I could use a drink myself. I met him this evening, and my stomach's still revolting. Tell me more about him—is he just another professional rake who counts on the shock value of the things he says, or is he something more? Marti, I sensed a kind of danger, I'll swear. It mined my evening. I was actually scared!"
"And you were right, baby. He's pure poison, and I mean that. He's the type of guy any woman should stay away from; the unfortunate thing is that many of them are attracted to the bastard because he's rich and so damned good-looking."
Marti looked at Eve with sudden concern. "You didn't make him mad, did you, baby? Because he's dangerous—I mean, in every way. Even physically. The thing is, he doesn't give a damn about anything or anyone. And because he has all that money, he gets away with practically anything he pleases."
Marti was actually looking worried, and because Marti wasn't the worrying type as a rule, Eve felt her unreasoning sense of fear come back. She brought her drink over and sat on the couch beside Marti.
"What did you mean, you hope I didn't make him mad? He was quite horrible in his nasty, sneering way, but he didn't exactly strike me as a psychopath, either. You're trying to warn me about something, Marti, and that's unusual!"
"Sure it is—I try to mind my own business! But you're a good kid, Eve, and I wouldn't want you to get hurt. Brant Newcomb's the type who could do it if he felt like it."
"Don't worry, it's not likely that I'll ever run into him again. I intend to stay as far away from him as I can get! Honestly, Marti, I never thought I'd meet a man who could really scare me, but he did. Afterward, I got to wondering if most of it wasn't just my imagination."
"No, it wasn't just imagination. Don't ever dismiss Brant that easily, because he's—a very ruthless person. And he doesn't have feelings, not the kind other people have."
"You sound as if you know him."
Marti's voice changed—the slightly slurred quality was gone—and Eve could see that she had tensed.
"I know him too well. I should say knew him, because all these years I've tried to stay out of his way. He doesn't come to this city too often—lucky San Francisco!" The sound Marti made was short and bitter, not really a laugh, although she meant it for one. She looked at Eve, her eyes measuring.
"Eve baby, I'm in the mood to talk. I've been sitting here all bloody evening trying to get drunk, waiting for the goddam phone to ring, hoping Stel would call and tell me she changed her mind. But she didn't, so—no, don't waste your pity on me, Eve," Marti warned, catching Eve's look. "If there's one thing I despise it's pity. But we were talking about Brant. And I've a story to tell if you're interested. Perhaps you'd better listen and learn."
"That sounds rather ominous!" Eve tried to make her voice sound light, but Marti's mood and solemn words had depressed her.
Marti said sharply, "Eve, I'm not kidding! Listen, I don't usually tell my life story to anyone, but this part concerns Brant Newcomb, and I'm just drunk enough to want to tell you enough so you'll know he plays rough. You want to hear it or not?"
"If you're sure it won't upset you," Eve began, but Marti interrupted her sharply.
"Nothing can upset me more than I am right now— and this all happened a long time ago, anyhow. Funny how you try to forget things, put them firmly out of your mind, and then something happens and it all comes back like a goddam movie or something. God! I can almost see myself as I used to be in those days. Stupid ingenue trying to play it cool and sophisticated."
Marti had begun to turn her glass around and around between her palms as she spoke, her voice curiously husky.